


capitol hill, that's (not) where i want to be

by trasharama



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Politics, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Fluff, Hate Sex, Semi Slow Burn, Senator Leia Organa, Size Kink, Smut, ben solo the 30 yr old intern, idk what im doing i hope u cant tell, smutty mcsmutsmut, washington dc is a character loool
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-18
Updated: 2020-12-04
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:53:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27071551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trasharama/pseuds/trasharama
Summary: “Ben Solo,” Rey says, slow and steady. Then she says nothing else, and only stares.“I--yeah, um, that’s me.” He flourishes it, rather absurdly, with haphazard jazz hands. He’s never jazz handed in his goddamn life.“Leia made me hire you, you know.” He decides, based on her tone, that it’s not the kind of question intending to be answered. “I didn’t want to. I knew you would bring us down, and look how right I was. CNN, those fucks, found out last night and published a hit this morning. I had to go to a presser with Rose to make sure everyone knew you were just a lowly intern in this office. A glorified coffee mule.”
Relationships: Rey/Ben Solo
Comments: 36
Kudos: 135





	1. crushed like a bug in the ground

**Author's Note:**

> hi hello!
> 
> based off a prompt i tweeted out recently: au where Ben was a rich ceo who lost EVERYTHING so now he's starting over... as a 30 yr old intern on Capitol Hill for his senator mother, and working ~under~ her chief of staff Rey Niima
> 
> thank u so much to tofu, for this stunning beautiful moodboard, and kat, for reading this and praising me even tho it's not perfect
> 
> find me on my fucking hilarious twitter, @reylobaelo

So here’s how it goes: Ben Solo crashes and burns in five (5) quick beats.

In hindsight, he should’ve seen it coming. Alastair Snoke _was_ getting awfully cagey, avoiding him at every turn, canceling meetings out of nowhere, letting his temper get the better of him. One particularly intense morning led to a fallout in the kitchen with Hux, where a coffee pot ended up shattered and piping hot around the door frame moments later. Snoke wasn’t known to have bursts of _physically_ violent anger--hence the successful consulting firm, reliant upon his ability to charm clients.

Hux’s firing should have been the second clue. Third-hand man (behind Ben, of course), ruthless in his mission to poach clients from rival firms, Hux was _valuable_. Why Snoke fired him after that day, Ben still doesn’t really understand.

He becomes suspicious far too late in the game. As in, Snoke is already being led out of the office, flanked by two FBI officers, snarling at the secretaries and paralegals to _not look at him. That_ kind of _too late_. 

Snoke, disappearing in a black van, cuffs behind his back, _you should’ve seen it coming,_ too late. 

The _there’s nowhere else to turn_ kind of too late.

New York City has a charm to it, when one is wealthy and powerful. Wearing suits and ties of a certain brand gets you places, and showing your face in Michelin star restaurants sends the waitstaff scrambling to get you to your usual table. There are rules, unspoken, that apply to everyone but you. Because you wrote them yourself.

It’s like real life _Gossip Girl_ , and _yes_ , Ben Solo _does_ know that reference, thank you very much.

But that charm wears off the moment you become a social leper, under the same kind of investigation as your former boss. Your former _mentor_.

_Complacency_ , that’s what his mother calls it, when Ben hovers over rock bottom and calls her with the only vestige of his shattered life. And she’s right, isn’t she? He’d taken so much over the years, only to give back nothing. Self-approbation at its finest, a white man’s curse.

Now look where that’s gotten him.

“I can offer you something here,” she says as their hours-long conversation comes to an end. The first hours-long conversation he’s had with her in… has it really been years? “It’s not much. But you should come home, Ben.”

He thinks that sounds good. Home. So he goes.

And in the fifth beat of his fall, he realizes, _fuck_.

***

Washington D.C. is, in Ben Solo’s humble opinion, the absolute fucking worst.

The scenery is the abysmal, the buildings are boring, the people abhorrent. Everyone has an _agenda_ , and don't even get him started on the social justice warriors that litter the streets like McDonald's bags on the daily. 

It’s a literal _swamp_.

Sticky, buggy, too much green.

Why are the streets so _wide_?

It’s full of political vitriol and career butt munchers. Parking is impossible to find, the public transport system is atrocious, and most tragic of all, it's where his family decided to set-up shop all those decades ago.

A decade ago, he’d sworn to never come back.

And look at him now, a lanyard around his neck, the brand new plastic of his nametag glaring in the fluorescent lighting of Russell Senate Building’s basement.

“This is all a little unprecedented,” Poe, the man charged with showing him around, tells him. They walk briskly down the hallway, Ben lagging just behind with reluctance. “Usually, intern hires are made at the beginning of the season. Which is no problem, really. Anything for the Senator, that’s what we always say, right? It’s our _job,_ afterall. But point is, I’m a little behind, so sorry for that.”

“It’s, ehm--”

“So I’m sure you know what interns do.”

“Of course, I’ve--”

“Coffee, filing, that sort of thing. Of course, we have everyone giving tours. And it’s summer, so I’m afraid you probably won’t be able to get out of that responsibility. Everyone’ll be visiting in the next few weeks. Another intern will probably be the one giving you that rundown, though, so don’t worry about it, yet.”

“Okay--”

“Senator Organa requested I give you a quick show-around of the building, though. So you know where to eat lunch, where to enter in the mornings, exit in the evenings. I’m sure you know that packing isn’t allowed. Guns, at least. Cigarettes are a different story. And you look like you might need them.”

“Excuse me?” 

Poe pauses and shoots him a grin. “Am I going to fast for you, old man?”

And the truthful answer is, _yeah, of course you are, dickwad._ But Ben sets his shoulders straight, bucks up a little, and shakes his quiet little head.

“Good.” Poe nods. “Lunch will be in there, but you don’t have to eat in the cafeteria. You can bring your own, or go out, it doesn’t matter. Whatever you want. The world is your oyster, and you’re thirty, so I don’t suppose you need anyone’s permission to do anything.”

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome!” Poe pats him on the shoulder. “I think you’re going to fit right in here! The office is great. You’ll meet most everyone later today, right now our chief of staff Ray is leading some damage control on a bad hit from this morning, but you’ve got the other interns we need to introduce you to. As far as staffers go, you’ll probably mostly only be interacting with me and Rose--Rose does comms and I handle a lot of the day-to-day constituent needs. Scheduling tours, taking messages, that sort of thing. You might work with Finn, every once in a while. He does a lot of fundraising, though, so he’s usually out of the office. But if you ever come out with us some night, you’ll meet him for sure. What was it you did at your last job, again?”

“I, erm. Well, consulting--”

“Awfully large blanket term, isn’t it? What kind of consulting?”

Ben grits his teeth. Tries not to yell at Poe to just let him _finish_ , _dammit_. “The firm I worked for did a lot of things. I mainly focused on the… eh, political consulting aspect. Data analysis, fund allocation.”

“Ah,” Poe says, sounding like he knew exactly what Ben did all along. “So you told the bad guys to spend their money on, say, running malicious ad campaigns against candidates that wanted to create _good_ change?”

And here we go. “I guess so.”

They’re stalled on the stairs, three flights up. Poe cocks his head, bites his cheek, and stares. 

“The senator says you’re ready to change. I hope you don’t prove her wrong, Ben. Ray tried to tell her, you could cause a lot of damage. You’re already dipping her in the media because of the hire in the first place. Though that may change, considering you’re just an intern, I don’t know. But Ray has a point: you could drag us down. You could fuck it all up. I hope you don’t. For your sake. You don’t want Ray coming after you.”

Ben looks down at his feet. “I don’t want to fuck anything up,” he says. “I…”

“It’s okay,” Poe interrupts. “I think I get it. Just wanted to warn you. This office isn’t easy to work for as it is. You, coming from your background? It’s not going to be easy for you, either, Senator’s son or not.”

“Okay.”

“Good.” Poe smiles at him, slaps his back twice. “It’ll be alright. The world is all one great unknown--so might as well dive in headfirst, yeah?”

They climb up the remaining four flights of stairs, and Ben’s not sure if he can do this, anymore. What was he even thinking, letting his mother humiliate him in such a way? Thinking his mother could bail him out in the first place? He didn’t even _deserve_ the helping hand, failure of a son he is. And if this is how all of his future co-workers act, like Poe in all his Sorkin-esque glory, he won’t last a day. Maybe it’s just best to cut his losses now, head back to his sad little apartment, pack up his few things in a hobo sack, and run to the nearest train station.

A life on the road doesn’t sound so bad.

Not when this is the alternative.

He thinks it might be too late, though, because somehow, somewhere between his internal crisis and the seventh flight of stairs, Poe meandered them to the office, where Leia Organa’s name sits in its place beside the door, and three flags line the wall surrounding it, and it looks like--

His fucking childhood.

And he’s walking in behind Poe, feeling so much like that little boy again, back when his mom was a junior congresswoman. He stands at a stately 6’3’’, stretching his suit just past the point of comfort, but seeing that placard behind the main front desk, blue and gold, he thinks maybe he’s reverted back to that tiny little boy with his giant ears and cropped hair, light-up sneakers on his feet.

It even smells the same, like those expensive pine candles his mother used to burn in every room. Like the woods they used to hike in Virginia, when they’d cut down a Christmas tree and bundle up snug and warm.

There’s a pit in his stomach. A burning in the back of his eyes, unfamiliar, horrible. He thinks he might choke.

And there, in the midst of it all, is a girl.

She’s wearing a suit, Burberry print cinched tight around her little waist, a matching skirt cropped right at her knees. Stockings high up her legs. Black heels, simple and glossy, encasing dainty feet. Her lips are painted red, and they’re formed in a pronounced scowl.

A scowl directed right towards him.

“Ray!” Poe exclaims, and Ben halts in place, looking around for the man Poe is talking to. Only there’s no one there, and Poe has beelined for this girl who hasn’t looked away from him, not once, not for a second. “I thought you’d be out all day!”

“No,” the girl says, and she’s fucking _british_ , of all things, and--and is this girl _Ray_? Leia’s chief of staff, Ray? She doesn’t look a day over twenty-four, there’s no way, he thinks, that she could possibly be Ray. “I did all I could. I figured I might as well come and meet the reason for today’s blow up. No use stalling it, right?”

Poe turns around to face Ben, smirking. “Always business first, our Ray,” he says. “Ben, meet Ray. Ray, meet Ben.”

Ben hurries forwards, stumbling over his own feet. He holds out a hand. “Ray…”

“Niima. Rey-with-an-E Niima,” she says, glancing at his hand and crossing her arms. “And I think, after you meet your fellow interns, that you and I should have a chat. You don’t mind introducing him, Poe?”

Ben realizes his hand is still hovering, waiting for a shake that is clearly never coming. He lets it fall to his side, limp and useless like everything else about him.

_Rey-with-an-E Niima_ , he thinks. A british girl named Rey-with-an-E Niima just snubbed him a handshake.

No one’s ever done something like that to him before.

He’s usually the one doing the snubbing.

How far out of his fucking element can he get today?

“Of course!” Poe chirps, pulling Ben out of his crisis. “Come on, old man, let’s go meet the interns!”

_Oh_ . Surrounded by the sudden appearance of three fresh-faced little kids in the back, it hits Ben like a ton of bricks--he really _is_ old, isn’t he?

And Rey really must be young, if she looks closer in age to these smiling freaks who probably eat crustless sandwiches and carrot sticks for lunch than she does to him.

“Alright, folks, this is Ben, your new intern friend! He’s a rare off-season hire, so make sure to observe him like he’s the last wooly mammoth of the Ice Age, yeah? Ben, these are your fellow interns! That’s Kaydel, that’s Snap, and that guy in the corner there is BB.”

“Hi Ben!” the girl, Kaydel, says. “Glad to have you here!”

“Kaydel’s been here longest. This is actually her second season with us!”

“Cool,” Ben says, but it doesn’t sound very cool to him at all.

“Ben’s got a couple of people to meet in the office still, and I’ll probably be showing him around a little more later today, but maybe you all can have lunch in the cafeteria together. A little intern-bonding never hurt anyone, has it?”

The three interns give Poe his due polite laughs, and then Ben realizes that he’s an intern, too, and he’s classified with these children all the same, no matter his age, no matter his experience. Is it too late for him to jump off a bridge?

“Nice to meet you all,” he lies behind a grimace, offering a little wave as he follows after Poe, back to the main lobby. “I--how old are they all?”

“Ah, college aged. I think Kaydel is the oldest, she’s like… 21, if I’m remembering correctly? BB’s the youngest, a ripe 19. Wouldn’t know it, how hard a worker he is, though! Now you see why you’re the old man?”

“Didn’t take a lot to guess, Poe,” Ben mumbles. Feeling bold, he adds, “I’m a 30-year-old intern. Of course I’m the old man.”

“Don’t beat yourself up about it! I think it’s admirable, that you’re willing to make amends by starting from the bottom. Not everyone would make that kind of sacrifice.” _Is that what this is? A sacrifice?_ “Now, let’s get you over to Rey. She doesn’t like to dawdle, as I’m sure you’ll be learning very soon.”

Poe leads him to another office, through the second short hallway from the lobby. The door is open, and Rey is sitting at her desk, typing up a storm on her laptop. She doesn’t look up when Poe knocks, only nods her head, and Poe pushes Ben inside, leaving without another word.

Ben hovers just beyond the doorway.

“Sit down,” Rey says in her accent, not bothering to look up at him. “I have to finish this, so no use in standing there.”

He takes a seat in the plush chair across from her desk and fiddles with his fingers. He crosses and uncrosses his legs, and he wonders how evident it is that he is so far out of his element. Being intimidated, before today, wasn’t really in his emotional repertoire. But this slip of a girl… he thinks sharing air with her might kill him, and death has never frightened him so much.

Finally, she shuts her laptop, folds her hands over themselves, and faces him like a stern principal. Like he’s nothing but a high schooler who shouted _cunt_ in the middle of class.

“Ben Solo,” Rey says, slow and steady. Then she says nothing else, and only stares.

“I--yeah, um, that’s me.” He flourishes it, rather absurdly, with haphazard jazz hands. He’s never jazz handed in his goddamn _life_.

“Leia made me hire you, you know.” He decides, based on her tone, that it’s not the kind of question intending to be answered. “I didn’t want to. I knew you would bring us down, and look how right I was. CNN, those fucks, found out last night and published a hit this morning. I had to go to a presser with Rose to make sure everyone knew you were just a lowly intern in this office. A glorified coffee mule.”

“I--”

“I don’t take kindly to being interrupted,” she says. “So sit there and take it, Ben Solo. You know how _I_ got here? It certainly wasn’t through nepotism. I worked my fucking arse off, started at the bottom, worked my up until I became Leia’s most trusted ally. I found my connections in the dark with my eyes closed, and didn’t let go of a single one. And here we are. Chief of staff to one of the most powerful senators in this generation. I won’t let some pretty boy Republican hack ruin that for me.”

“I--how _old are you?_ ” Ben can’t help but blurt out.

He knows it’s the wrong question to ask--that he shouldn’t have been asking _any_ questions at all, but undoubtedly, that was one of the worst he could have deigned to impose on her.

She glares at him. “Twenty-six. But don’t let that fool you.”

“You look like an intern,” he says, closing his eyes midway through to curse himself.

“And isn’t it funny,” she responds, and he peels his eyes open to see a malicious grin on her bright mouth, “that _you’re_ the intern here, and I’m the chief of staff. You, a former fucking millionaire, a corporate cuck whose hobbies probably consisted of regular STD checks and burning money like it’s books your clients wanted banned from school curriculum.”

“I thought Leia was sex positive.”

“I’m going to make you quit.”

Ben looks at her. Her nostrils are flared and her neck is arched back and she looks like one of the scariest creatures, a dragon about to set him aflame, only he’s also seen Alastair Snoke, the most evil man on the face of the earth, and if he was able to last through that, he can get through this, too.

If he was able to call his mother, if he was able to accept a fucking _internship_ , well, he can face this woman.

He’s Ben Solo, for fuck’s sake.

His father’s son, afterall.

“I’d like to see you try, sweetheart,” he says. And oh, _fuck_ , did that probably break a dozen HR rules. But her face heats up, and her eyes narrow, and she’s still deigning to give him the light of day.

He can do this.

“I don’t know what game you’re playing here,” she says. “But I can guarantee you won’t win it. I’ll be damned if you get in the way of Leia Organa and the rest of my team, whether you’re her son or not. So you be a good little intern, make my copies and fetch my coffee, and I’ll leave you alone until you inevitably cause some massive, fireable drama, or you decide to fuck off and scurry back to the lifeless, rich hole you crawled out of.”

“Rey, I--”

“You’re dismissed. Go have a nice lunch with your other intern friends. You guys can talk about the best poli-sci classes at Georgetown, and maybe you can ask them where the closest coffee shop is. I’m sure you’ll be needing it.”

He stands, numb and speechless, nodding at her and shutting the door behind him.

With a breath, he thinks maybe he has further to fall, afterall.


	2. you got me off track

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “So you used to be, like, evil, right?” She jabs a carefully peanut buttered celery stick towards him. 
> 
> He wonders who taught her how to break the ice with new people. It’s the first time any of the interns have spoken to him outside of their original greetings, and already they're establishing a lack of filter. 
> 
> “I heard Poe and Rey fighting on a conference call with the Senator, and Rey called you a piece of shit, and she never calls people pieces of shit.”
> 
> “She seems like she calls a lot of people pieces of shit,” he mutters into his soup. He eats it gladly because it’s congealed chicken noodle and disgusting, which is probably exactly what he deserves.
> 
> “Rey?” BB pipes up, approaching the table with his own sandwich. “She’s an angel, she would never call someone a piece of shit!”
> 
> “Exactly, I just said that!” Kaydel exclaims. “Which means that you really must be the biggest piece of shit!”
> 
> “Yep.” Ben pauses to chew a soggy carrot—he didn’t even know carrots could be soggy. “That’s me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im sorry this took me so long to get out :( if i could promise i'll get the next chapter out quick i would but i can't so i won't :'(((
> 
> thank u so fucking much to my very first (!!!!) beta reader alex!!!

Taking lunch alone is a power move.

That’s, like, Capitalist 101. 

Executives loom over restaurants and devour their steaks in total silence, suits pressed neat and tight, shoes shined and bright, because proving that you don’t need to fill silence with meaningless conversation is a millionaire necessity. They’ll try to take advantage of you otherwise; they’ll try to manipulate you, and they’ll probably succeed.

Ben was nor _is_ an exception to this rule.

But his shoes right now are neither shined nor bright, and his suit is barely that—a button-up shirt, wrinkled from his haste to dress that morning, and a faded blazer, since his mother had warned him the night before to _tone it down_. 

Even still, he’s eating lunch alone. Rey-with-an-E Niima isn’t going to tell _him_ what to do, even if he is just an intern. 

Even if she _is_ technically his boss. 

It’s a strategic step in the grand scheme of things. Situate himself in the busiest cafeteria, in the basement where Poe had taken him earlier; set up shop with his phone and a sad helping of chicken soup; sit rod straight— _perfect posture,_ that’s the key—and let his gaze span around the room, unbothered, expressionless.

And it works for all of about five minutes, until Kaydel and BB file in and spot him _immediately_. Apparently they don’t teach Capitalist 101 at Georgetown, since they ignore his powerful (and once foolproof) intimidation efforts and sidle up to his table without even asking.

The _audacity._

(But maybe he’s a little relieved, too. Now Rey can’t say he didn’t do what she asked if she happened to stumble in.)

Which is how he ends up here, slumped, on the verge of feeling comfortable and relaxed in their mutual silence. The only sounds that surround them are ones of people gathering their food from the line, plates being cleaned in the back, the cash register opening and closing. 

It’s soothing.

Until Kaydel starts talking to him.

“So you used to be, like, evil, right?” She jabs a carefully peanut buttered celery stick towards him. 

He wonders who taught her how to break the ice with new people. It’s the first time any of the interns have spoken to him outside of their original greetings, and already they're establishing a lack of filter. 

“I heard Poe and Rey fighting on a conference call with the Senator, and Rey called you a piece of shit, and she _never_ calls people pieces of shit.”

“She seems like she calls a lot of people pieces of shit,” he mutters into his soup. He eats it gladly because it’s congealed chicken noodle and disgusting, which is probably exactly what he deserves.

“Rey?” BB pipes up, approaching the table with his own sandwich. “She’s an angel, she would _never_ call someone a piece of shit!”

“Exactly, I just said that!” Kaydel exclaims. “Which means that _you_ really must be the _biggest_ piece of shit!”

“Yep.” Ben pauses to chew a soggy carrot—he didn’t even know carrots _could_ be soggy. “That’s me.”

“You used to work for that Alastair Snoke guy, right?” BB asks. “ _That_ guy’s evil.”

“I did,” he mutters back. “He… yeah, he’s pretty evil.”

“Why’d you work for him, then?”

Ben rolls his eyes, sick of the interrogation. “I like money, BB, like everyone else in this fucking world. I like money and I like having a lot of it.”

“You don’t have a lot of it now, though?” Kaydel says. It doesn’t sound like a question; it’s more like a taunt.

“No, Kaydel, I don’t have a lot of money now.”

“Because you used to be evil.”

“Yeah.” He takes a bite of his stale roll. “Emphasis on the _used to be._ ”

“I’m surprised the nepotism didn’t get you further,” BB points out.

“It’s my penance.”

“You seem alright.” Kaydel passes him a celery stick. “I’m sure you’ll do just fine here, Ben. With that attitude, you fit right in with us _woe-is-me_ progressives.”

Ben snorts. “I’m not sure I’m a progressive at all.”

“Mm,” Kaydel hums. “Rey’s your boss. So that’ll change, don’t worry.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Listen,” she says after a moment, adjusting herself so that she’s facing him completely, “this is a weird position for all of us to be in. It’s like… we don’t know how to treat you. None of us know how to navigate around you.”

“It’s a walk in the park for me,” he mutters, grimacing.

“Right.” A flash of a smile. “The point is, I think you should come out for drinks with us Tonight. This office has some weird blurred lines as far as our intern-manager relationships go, so to be honest, Poe will probably join us. And if Poe comes, Finn will too. And I think it might be good for all of us to start hacking away at whatever this is. If we’re going to be stuck together for the next however many months.”

The speed at which he responds is astounding. In the _before_ , he’d never deign to drink with coworkers. It’s a sign of weakness, the desire for relationships, to build something lasting. 

But he says _yes_ like there’s a million dollars at stake, and he even attempts a toothless grin. A scowl, more probably, but an attempt is better than nothing.

It doesn’t have to be the same, he thinks.

_So much for power moves._

***

In Capitalist 201, they teach you to _never_ drink too much. If a business meeting is necessary, and drinks are, too, you get the most expensive cocktail on the menu and sip at it. Being drunk with clients, with coworkers?

_Not_ the move . E _ver_.

Capitalists in Course 201 should know better.

Maybe Poe didn’t get the memo, since he keeps plying all of them with free drinks and regaling stories that, probably two weeks ago, Ben wouldn’t have been caught dead listening to.

“There I am,” Poe says, establishing the scene, “in Reno, a day before I’m supposed to leave forever, and I’ve got this gift card I have no idea what to do with. So I go up to this dude by the grocery store to give it to him, and his dog _bites me_. Scrawny little thing, drew blood and everything! But the dude didn’t notice, so I walked away—and Finn sees me dripping blood when I walk back in the office—”

“His hand is all torn up!” Finn clarifies. 

“And he _insists_ I go to the hospital. The _hospital_ , in _this climate?_ I can’t even afford a McDonald’s meal at this point. I spent my whole per diem on drinks the night before.”

“Typical,” Finn says, smiling up at him.

“So anyway,” Poe says, grinning back down, “I go to the hospital, and they tell me _maybe we should give you the rabies shots_. They tell me they need to go kill the dog, to make sure it doesn’t have rabies!”

“No fucking way,” Ben roars back. 

So _maybe_ he’s broken the rule.

“Way!”

“Did you do it?” Kaydel presses.

“Of fucking course not! I want to do a shot.” He passes the round out—one for Finn, one for himself, one for Kaydel, and one for Ben. 

Who’s fucking _drunk._

It’s straight cheap vodka that Poe gets for them on their third round, and Ben’s still nursing a bourbon neat. It’s the most he’s had to drink in probably a decade, which doesn’t bode particularly well since the room is starting to spin.

Surely he must be imagining the presence of a new person approaching the table, all dark hair and Burberry print and kitten heels.

But Poe acknowledges their presence with a quick, “Rey! Come join us, I was just telling tales of my time in Nevada! Scoot over, guys!”

Ben is at the end of the big round booth they’re all sitting in, which means that when Kaydel shifts to the right, the only space for Rey to take is the one right next to him. He’s about to excuse himself and go home, because her withering stare is not one he thinks he can endure, but she plops down with hardly a hesitation. 

“What part were you at?” she prods, motioning for a waiter. “G and T, please!”

“He was just saying that the hospital was insisting on knowing where the dog was so they could kill him and see if it had rabies!”

“I didn’t miss the best part, then!”

“So I refused to give them the location of the dog,” Poe says. “That dog might’ve been all that person had! And I’m sure I would’ve noticed if the dog was rabid, right?”

“That’s ridiculous, Poe,” Ben finds himself cutting in. He’s lost all control of his own tongue.

Poe cocks his head and grins, like he’s been waiting for this kind of engagement the entire evening.

“Is it?” Rey asks, turning to face him.

“Of course it is!” _Fuck, fuck, fuck._ “You have such a short window to get the rabies shots. Why would you want to risk that?”

“I think Poe just explained,” she snaps back, “that an _empathetic_ person like him wouldn’t want to take away someone’s pet like that.”

“I’m plenty empathetic,” he sniffs. “I just don’t think a dog’s life is worth more than a human’s.”

“And clearly the dog didn’t have rabies, because look who’s here, safe and sound.”

“Doesn’t rabies have an incubation period of like, ten years?” Ben asks. “Did you even get the shots, Poe?”

“Nah, they were $16,000 and I was uninsured.”

“Bet the next thing that comes out of your mouth is gonna be something like, _‘oh, well, didn’t you have a savings account to dip into?’_ ” Rey says, dropping her voice low in a sadly accurate, still-British mimic of Ben.

“Well,” Ben shrugs.

“ _Unbelievable_!”

“What? That I think health should be a priority?”

“That you think health _can_ be a priority in a country where most people can barely pay their _rent_.”

And, well, that shuts him up. Because she’s radiant and glowing, and her voice has a high pitched lilt to it that just screams, _I know what I’m talking about_. Because it’s true, and he’s a moron for not realizing so earlier. And because he knows that he can’t win this argument with her. 

Or maybe any argument, for that matter.

Hopefully it’s just the alcohol talking, but he stares and stares, nods twice, and says, “You’re right.”

“And don’t even get me _started--_ ” She’s about to launch into another facet, clearly, but stops cold. Her eyes widen, deep and brown. She adds a clipped, “Yeah, I am.”

And that’s that.

“I’m going to go,” he says, downing the rest of his bourbon. “Long day and all. But thanks for the drinks.” 

Rey’s still watching him when he sets his glass back down on the table, unmoving. He clears his throat.

“Ah, sorry,” she mumbles, sliding out of the booth to let him out.

“See ya, Ben!” Poe calls to him.

“Nice getting to know you!” Kaydel shouts with a big, fat grin on her face.

It’s cold outside. He didn’t bring a jacket, the dumb idiot he is. Despite growing up in the D.C. area, despite living in New York City, where it’s just as cold (if not _colder_ ), he’s forgotten how bitter the nights can get in October. By the time he steps onto the subway, arms wrapped around his torso, his hands are numb.

It’s a long ride back to his apartment.

The people around him are quiet and reserved, and his side of the car is empty for the most part, leaving him trapped in his thoughts. He runs through the day: the intros, the lunch, the way Snap had shown him how to use Google Docs in a painstakingly slow voice, as though he were teaching an eighty-year-old, not a Millennial.

The way Rey had refused to shake his hand. Her impressive suit, the confidence with which she walked.

Her perfume, fruity, a little bitter.

Figs, if he had to guess.

Which he’s not. Guessing, that is. That would be… the _dumbest_ thing to take private, mental bids on.

But even still.

It must be figs.

Poe was nice, at least, he reminisces as he hops up the stairs of his transit stop. He might even want to be friendly with Kaydel.

And drinking was fun.

Way more fun than he remembers from college.

Or maybe it was the talking he enjoyed. And isn’t that a new thought?

His apartment, a small, dingy, overpriced space his mother found for him, is three blocks away now. The air is chilled and he can see his breath, and he’s not used to shivering outside, prissy little boy that he is.

He misses having a driver.

When he makes it inside, the first thing he does is turn his radiator on, only to realize that it’s not working. He bundles up in a coat, groaning, and stalks into the kitchen. 

His fridge is mostly empty, but his mother stocked up his freezer with tupperwares of lasagna. So he doesn’t deserve her all over again. For even more reasons. Which is just great; his guilt complex certainly could always use bolstering.

He realizes that he missed his dad’s cooking more than anything his former life had offered him.

Ben eats over his counter, fingers numbing.

The only thing that can salvage his body heat is a hot shower, which is how he ends up stripped and stooped over the spout, trying not to knock over his soaps in the caddy on the wall. He’s too fucking big, like always, gangly and awkward, feeling out of place in his own… _home_ might be a stretch, but place of refuge, at the very least.

It probably doesn’t help that he’s tipsy, either. Not in control of himself.

His thoughts stray; it’s the only way he can get himself to keep it together, to move forward, to stay put. 

Usually, the schedule of his body stays exactly the same, all the time. He wakes up at five, goes for a jog, eats oatmeal at six thirty, showers at seven, jerks it _in_ said shower at seven-oh-five, right on the dot.

It’s pavlovian, the hardening of his dick. So while he doesn’t typically feel the urge to touch himself at night, it’s a day of firsts: a first day of a job, a first drink after work, a first time being an intern, a first night shower.

A first handshake snub.

A first yelling session from a boss.

A first girl named Rey.

_I’m going to make you quit_ , she’d said to him. His hand wraps around his cock, and who could blame him? He’s nervous doing it, at least. That makes him feel better. She’d _mimicked_ him, guessed exactly what he was thinking and mocked him for it. Without a care in the world.

He experiments with a little tug.

Her cheeks were a little flushed at the bar, probably from the cold, maybe a little from her first few sips of gin and tonic. With the flurry of her coat, he’d felt the outside air, smelled how earthy it was. 

Seeing her had made him feel _alive_.

(Ben has definitely had too much to drink. No way he’d be thinking such idiotic things if he were sober. Never.)

But she’d _joined_ them. Did she know he was going to be there? Did he ruin all chances of seeing her again, outside of work?

Not that he _cares_.

He _doesn’t_.

He’d _never_.

Legs spread, shoulders slumped, one gorilla arm swaying at his side and the other pressed against his pelvis while he strokes himself, he wonders. He wonders if she’s as mean in bed (which _so_ isn’t appropriate, but he supposes she’ll never know; she may be his boss but she can’t control his _thoughts_ ; he’s only a man, after all). He wonders if her tits are--

No.

Nope.

He won’t let himself go down that path. That path is for Executive Ben Solo. The one who didn’t have to care about repercussions (not that he thought much about sex at all, anyway, when he was working eight days a week, twenty-five hours a day).

But he’ll allow himself to picture her clothed: fully clothed, not-naked Rey-with-an-E Niima, who he’s known for less than sixteen hours and who was flat out mean to him. Who called him a coffee mule and treated him like he treated his former employees, too. Without a qualm in the world. Without a care that he’s Leia Organa’s son.

Clothed Rey Niima, down on her knees, palming at him with her dainty hands—because if he can’t get a handshake, a handjob is the next best thing. Even better would be filling her dirty, cruel mouth up with his cock. Soaking her beautiful, pressed suit jacket with his own spend.

“Shit _, god fucking dammit,”_ he hisses out through clenched teeth.

Clothed Rey Niima, looking up at him, eyes wide and deep and _brown_ just like tonight, but maybe instead of mad, she’s eager, and excited, and everything he knows he’ll never witness from her.

Maybe she’ll say his name in that accent of hers, soft, husky with the same want he feels. (Briefly. He felt it only briefly).

It’s the longest orgasm he’s probably ever had; it lasts for ages, coating the shower floor with come, and his head spins as he watches it rush away, playing through the last few minutes in his head. 

He ignores the sickly guilt that pools in his stomach. 

That makes him feel even worse, because the Before Ben would never feel _guilty_ about doing something as simple as jerking off, even if it was to the thought of a coworker. He can’t decide if feeling anything is better than _not_ , but it doesn’t really matter, in the end.

Ben is who he is.

Though feeling guilty is… _not_ the vibe he’s looking for, so he decides while he towels himself off, puts on a sweater, covers himself in his soft, warm comforter, and drifts off into a dreamless sleep, that it can _never_ happen again.

***

"Hey, buddy!" Poe greets him when he walks in the next morning. "Rey gave me an assignment for you. She says you're probably the only one in the office who knows how to do it, since you’re, you know, _old."_

His voice drops to a mock whisper and Ben's cheeks heat up in the most unfamiliar way, recalling what he'd done in the shower last night to the thought of… of _her._

Poe leads him to a new desk in the interns' room, crowding an already tight space, where a thick stack of papers sits with a bright post it note labeled, _Solo, fax these to Senator Akbar's office. Due at noon._

Like Ben fucking Solo has ever faxed anything in his entire life.

"Can't I just—walk these over to the office? They're only in the next building?"

"Rey's orders, dude, sorry!" Poe pats him on the back in that way that’s becoming all too familiar, and takes a few steps away.

“Poe!” Ben nearly shouts. “Wait!”

He pauses, spins around and shrugs at him. “I’ve gotta go start on my day, Ben. But I believe in you!”

_Fuck_ , he thinks, looking down at his desk.

“Fuck,” he mutters, picking the papers up.

Fuck indeed.


End file.
